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Saturday, November 25, 2017

A couple weeks ago my husband and I went to see the new film, The Florida Project. When I first saw the film’s poster in our local theater months ago, I had made a quick mental note to see it. Being as I grew up in coastal Florida, I imagined that because it was a story of Florida, it would no doubt feature the white sand and beauty of the ocean, which I miss. By the time we went to see the film, though, I knew that it was about something else entirely.

The story follows the lives of small children and their mothers or, in one case, a grandmother, who live in motels along Route 192 near Disney World, all caught in poverty, bad decisions, some form of abandonment, and hopelessness. There's not a single beach scene. But the story line also follows that of Bobby, played by Willem DaFoe, the manager of The Magic Castle, the budget motel where the film’s primary child and mother live on a weekly basis. For all the reasons to see the film based on the story line and the outstanding performance of the 7-year-old Floridian, Brooklynn Prince, whom we will no doubt be seeing more of in years to come, it’s the story of Bobby that most captured my attention.

The film’s director, Sean Baker, had been on Charlie Rose in mid-October talking about his film. He described how he had researched for the film by talking with people in the area where it was shot. In particular, he spoke of a motel manager he met:

"We would go and see who was interested in telling their stories or giving us information about the Route 192, which is where this was shot. And this was—this involved us speaking to residents at the motels, the small business owners, some the motel managers, and some the agencies that actually provided social services to people in need in the area. And there was one—there was actually one man in particular, a motel manager, who really opened up his world to us. In a way, he was our passport in. He wanted—he felt that this was a story that should be told, … and he was actually managing one of these budget motels directly across the street from the Magic Castle Motel where we shot. And he was in a very tough position when he was actually working there. It has since closed. But he had compassion for the families and the kids who were there. He understood the struggles they were going through. And, yet, he, you know, had a job. He had to hold onto. And he knew that perhaps any night he might have to evict one of these families and put them out on the street if they couldn't come up with the nightly rate. So, it was a tough position for him. I could see this obvious—this compassion, but I also saw a distance that he would keep from them. And it was like a reluctant parental figure in many ways. I saw it not only with him but a few of the other motel managers we met. And I think it very much inspired our Bobby character."

DaFoe’s character captures an aspect of work that I tried to describe in Finding Livelihood: that of doing one thing, for which you’re paid, but that may be far from what you most want to do or feel “called” to do, while at the same time also doing something far bigger on another plane, maybe all the time and all along or maybe only for a moment, participating in a for-such-a-time-as-this sort of thing. Parallel realities. Bobby kept the books, he kept the rules, he kept the place clean. Job description met! But he also kept his people safe, he guided and cared, he gave hope, he loved. If you missed the movie trailer, hyperlinked in the first sentence, take a look now and you'll get a hint of what I'm talking about.

Thursday, October 19, 2017

This past Sunday our minister's sermon was on this text from Philippians, which gives a gentle push to thoughts of a higher order.

"Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."

I needed this reminder and perhaps you do too. These words are a touchstone that serve as not only wise guidance, but permission, yes permission, to at least occasionally turn thoughts away from the evening news, away from fears, away from sorrow, away from grievances, away from social media trivialities, away from [fill in the blank], and toward what is noble and right and pure and lovely and excellent and praiseworthy.

This morning I'm blowing the dust off something I wrote long ago. In Just Think: Nourish Your Mind to Feed Your Soul,I launched from this verse in Philippians to write a bulleted list of reasons to stock one's mind well. Here are some of the bullets in that list:

To be catalyzed, expanded, and ignited. Those of use who have battled a blah spirit and lifeless mind on one or more occasions won't find it difficult to draw a link between the state of our spirit and the state of our mind.

To stay optimistic and not lose hope or vibrancy. The world is full of wonderful things.

To link reason and imagination. To see the chasm between what is and what could be. To see possibility. To see opportunities for greatness.

To know the richness, vastness, and beauty of that which has been divinely created.

To form a solid foundation from which to launch action

To provide sufficient mental content of beauty and joy so that we are less likely to gravitate toward content of despair or fear.

To be equipped for creativity.

It's always OK to be a student of what you've already learned long ago and have needed to learn again and again. May your day be one of joy and hope. The world is full of wonderful things.

Friday, July 07, 2017

Tonight I went with a long-time friend to hear Terry Tempest Williams at Magers & Quinn, Minneapolis' finest independent bookstore. She was there to talk about her book, The Hour of Land: A Personal Topography of America's National Parks, which came out last year, but also to talk about much more. You might say it was a heart-to-heart talk between Terry and the 150 or so people gathered there, whom she talked to like we were her best friends.

She said that each of us must take the gifts that are ours and sharpen them, deepen them, and use them, each in our own place. She then spoke about the need to protect our National Parks and Monuments, particularly given the current political climate. She told us that after the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln designated Yosemite as the first National Park with the rationale being that a place of such beauty could help heal a divided nation.

I haven't read the book yet, but here's a section from a peak inside the chapter on Gulf Islands National Seashore, a place in my home state of Florida:

"Heading back toward Alabama, we take a turn over Cat Island and Horn Island, part of the Gulf Island National Seashore, each of whose seven islands have been affected by the spill. But on this day we see through the emerald waters to crystalline sands. I realize it is not the devastation of the oil that has undone me, but the beauty that remains. Constellations of cownosed rays speckle the sea with brown-red diamonds. Pods of dolphins race ahead of us. Tom sees a large shark that we miss. And schools of shimmering fish congregate in the shallow turquoise waters closer to shore."

~

I'm thinking that the place to use the gifts that are ours, sharpened and deepened, isn't the same for everyone, and I am also thinking, along with Williams, that each of us has a place in cultivating or protecting something that heals, in cultivating or protecting something of beauty.

Wednesday, February 08, 2017

“Hope stands up to its knees in the past and keeps its eyes on the future. There has never been a time past when God wasn’t with us as the strength beyond our strength, the wisdom beyond our wisdom, as whatever it is in our hearts - whether we believe in the God or not - that keeps us human enough at least to get by despite everything in our lives that tends to wither the heart and make us less than human. To remember the past is to see that we are here today by grace, that we have survived as a gift.”

Thursday, January 12, 2017

My friend Brian Volck has a new book out, his third: Attending Others: A Doctor's Education in Bodies and Words (Cascade Books). I finished it early this week and the last few days I’ve been pondering what I want to say about it, trying to boil down one main impression to send you. That’s not an easy task given what a rich and beautiful memoir this is.

Brian is a pediatrician, which means you could read this book for a view into how physicians think and learn. Of course, that wouldn’t be an incorrect approach. Read Attending Others and you’ll discover much about how clinicians make diagnoses and treatment decisions as well as the things they think about before opening the door to meet a new patient – or more interestingly, what they think about after they leave the room. If you’re a physician yourself or an aspiring physician, you will be in the presence of a fine tutor. But read it for that alone and you’ll miss much of what this book offers.

No one is left out of the activity suggested by the book’s main title, regardless of what kind of diploma or post-nominal initials you do or don't have. Attending others is the education written of on these pages. It is the education that develops across 15 chapters, across decades, across a continent and a hemisphere. This book is a journey of the practice of attending others and the hope that emerges from such practice. Even though such attending would look different for each of us depending on who we are and what we do, few of this book's readers will be able to close the book without feeling drawn to look at those around us in a new way.

I copied out six pages of passages from this book and, after looking through them just now, choose these to pass along to you:

"I use my body and senses to diagnose, treat, and reassure. Placing the diaphragm of my stethoscope on the chest of the febrile child, I listen for the rustle of breath, the murmur of a heart. I touch the pads of my fingers to a frightened adolescent’s wrist, taking her pulse. I watch amazed at the ferocity with which a hungry infant nurses at his mother’s breast. I stir with passions that, despite Dr. Osler’s warning, ground my compassion. I am an embodied creature working among other such creatures. It took years to learn that only by nurturing affection for these others can I rightly serve them, much less understand what it means to be healthy."

And,

"They bless me with fierce hope."

~~~

[Photo: taken of a swath from the book cover. Click here to have a look at the whole cover, "Pillar," designed by Tim Lowly, about whom Brian writes in the book.]

Saturday, December 31, 2016

Here it is again, on the eve of 2017: the list of intentions that I've posted a couple times before on previous New Year's Eves – although slightly edited. I'm posting it again because there are readers for whom this list has meaning, because this blog has new readers for whom this list might be of interest, and because I need to put it in front of myself once again as a reminder of a chosen way of being.

I've done poorly at many things on this list and done well – or maybe okay – at others, but that's why I like the word "intention" rather than "resolution." It implies something to work toward, move toward, rather than something at which you either succeed or fail.

Here's the list:

Experiment more.Create more; consume less.Trust more; worry less. Read more; write more; watch less.Write more of what lasts longer.Waste less time.Spend more time in "creative idleness".Spend less; save more.Pray more, including for the people who read the words I write.Use more paper, lots of paper.Use a pen more, a keyboard less.Love more.Talk less but say more.Figure out how patience and urgency co-exist.Hope always.Cook more; eat less.Play the piano more. Pursue truth, beauty, and goodness at every opportunity; realize every moment is an opportunity.Stand up straighter.Speak more often in the strength of my own voice.Find the way to do what needs to be done; sit quietly and wait for the Lord.Accept paradox.Pray more, pray without ceasing.Hope more absolutely.Be more available to and vulnerable with God and others.See the signs, ask for signs; be more willing to step into the unknown.Use less; have less; give more away.Shorten my to-do lists.More intentionally be a conduit for the flow of God's grace to the world.Be silent more often.Pray more fervently for safety coast to coast but live less fearfully.Remind myself as often as needed where true hope lies. Start fewer projects but finish more of those I start.Be encouraged.Be excited.Hope more purely.Be more attuned to the burdens of the people I pass on the street as well as those with whom I share a table or a home.Pray for the world and its leaders.Love God with ever more of my heart, soul, strength, and mind.Thank more.Eat less sugar but more dark chocolate.

I'd love to hear some of your intentions. If you want, you can share them in the comments below.

Saturday, November 19, 2016

I've written about hope a fair amount in this space and some of you know it's the topic I'm exploring in a book-length manuscript, which hopefully means a future physical something with two covers and pages in between that can be held in one's hands. While working on it in small openings of time over a period of years, I continue to be struck by how much there is yet to learn. I look at notes I wrote 2, 3, or 4 years ago, or even last month, and have to stop and listen and absorb yet again, still more. It's like being in school at the beginning of a level II course and while reviewing what you've learned so far, you find that some of it has stuck while some of it dawns fresh or more fully and your eyes and mind open and you move forward just a bit further. Stay tuned.

~~~

[Photo: taken of a teeny tiny fraction of the beauty in my neighborhood right now]

Thursday, September 22, 2016

Reading from Joel, “And afterward, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. ” I love that “and afterward.” What’s to come, after whatever has been endured is past: a statement of hope. As to a child, now we’ll let the nurse give you your shot, but afterward, on the way home, we’ll stop for ice cream. Or now, dear child, dear husband, dear friend, dear self, all you can do is hunker down and do what you need to do to live, to get through the day, the month, but afterward, when the pressure lifts, and it always does eventually, you will breathe again, you will daydream, you will have a vision of what life can and will be.

“Far from my high school daydreams about the future, I am on a search for daily meaning as well as for daily bread, for living rather than dying. I want to cast my net on the side of astonishment.... I want to find God at work in me and through me. I want livelihood.

Livelihood: the word gathers up and bundles together the simultaneous longings for meaning, satisfaction, and provision. In the fullest sense of the word, livelihood means the way of one’s life; it means the sustenance to make that way possible; it means both body and soul are fully alive thanks to what has been earned or received by grace. On one level we make our livelihood; on another level we keep our eyes open and find it.”

–Nancy J. Nordenson, Finding Livelihood: A Progress of Work and Leisure (Kalos Press)

By day I'm a medical writer. After hours I do another kind of work. Creative writing, spiritual writing, essaying. This blog arises from those after hours. I write about work/vocation, meaning, hope, imagination, faith, science, creativity/writing, books, and anything else I feel the impulse to write about. I hope these short posts provide camaraderie for your own creative and spiritual life.